


hold my hand

by Illmerica



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Post-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illmerica/pseuds/Illmerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it's over and Roxy isn't over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold my hand

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to try my hand at this sort of style, with the Pester font over dialogue. It isn't. . .horrible? I think?

She wakes you up with tears down her face and her sob held behind her lips. The makeup she had been too stubborn to remove before bed makes her eyes only look more beaten. You hold her close and run her hair between your filed nails, because sharp reminds her of before, _before_ , like orange claws and because you don’t mind. It’s practical.

"im sorry" She whispers into your bosom, desperately, freverently like a prayer. Her hands are ice on your arms, the true touch of nothingness embodied into the body of a girl. "im so so sorry i wasnt there for you janey i didnt know how to help how to get you out of it im so sorry"

Sometimes when you sleep you’ll remember red. It isn't always your red, the clothes that you wore before you had been dragged to sleep and to Calliope's deceased side. It's hers. Red words, red lines, red blood. A voice will echo in your mind and ask you to call her Mother, and you do, you always call her Mother and accept the sweet cradle of your chin between her palms or wet lips against your forehead. Nothing in the world could be better. Dirk Strider will be little more than an afterthought. Roxy Lalonde will find herself Mother’s prisoner, Mother’s toy, and outside of your jurisdiction. Jake English will find himself yours, become desolate as you paw at his clothes and as you hurl your trident at him, a mere white speck in the sky, and will die for being so troublesome, and it’s all that Mother wants so it’s all you need.

Everything is soaked in red. Just red red red, a bright blood red. You’ll wish for fuschia but all you’ll find is red.

O B E Y O B E Y O B E Y

It's an echo, constant and vile. You aren't sure how you didn't go mad.

At the time, you had believed no actions could compare to the murder of someone you love by your own hands, because you threw and you  _missed_ , missed your target and hit her instead, and at the time you had been a fool. There are much, much worse things in the world to be seen.

Terezi has told you all numerous times, it’s just the backlash from the emergence of a new Alpha Timeline after the destruction of the original. You gained their memories.

That seem to be how the Game works. It works however it feels it wants to work.

She didn't have to inherit memories though, they had already been hers from the beginning of the end. You could never tell whether that had made it worse or better for her, but it felt selfish to try and compare. You hadn't actually lived it. A different Jane Crocker from a different life did, you just happen to be able to gaze out through her eyes.

Sburb has been over for more than a century, Sgrub more than a century and three, and you live as Gods—not Nobles, never just Nobles again but full-fledged _Gods_ —amongst a new world a girl who is somehow your daughter created from a Frog. That world that she comes from, a timeline that fell to ruin because of an archaic troll who'd believed she knew best, it still haunts the both of you to this day.

"you died she killed you and you died and i was just ASLEEP" She sags again. "alseep when everyone died"

She’s quivering as you take her face in your hands and press a kiss to her forehead. Usually she would joke, call you a pale flirt when you’re already red, but now she just cries harder. "Let’s go get ourselves something to drink, okay?"

The kitchen is dark and extravagant. Thousands of years will never quell your hobbies, not when they’re set so deeply into your veins. The others will sway and ebb like the tide, but you are the boulder it opposed. You’ve found it is much more enjoyable if you make treats from scratch, however, instead of from an instant box. Your friends all agree.

Hot chocolate is appropriate, you decide, and sit her on top of one of the many counters. She crosses her ankles and gnaws at her fingernails as more makeup slides down her cheeks. You don’t rebuke her as you would and instead pet her thigh in comfort, go to make the cocoa.

While you whisk the sugar, cocoa, and salt together she stares at your back. It isn’t unpleasant, though you make sure to turn your head and offer a smile. Her clumsy wink back is completely charming, you think. Cups of milk appear beside you without an ounce of effort, just another of the numerous advantages that being almighty offers you, and you clear your throat. It appears she’s recovered enough not to start in surprise, at least.

"How many marshmallows?" You tap spoonfuls of the mixture into the mugs. "The usual four?"

Her nose sniffles but she slides off the counter and wraps herself around your back. The skin that touches yours is still too chilled; she must not have been in bed right before she’d woken you up. Probably paced about the home first. "im only up for one right now i dont want it to be that sweet"

"Okay."

You don’t move to dislodge her so you can warm the cold chocolate into hot chocolate, it moves itself. The microwave hums as its plate rotates, round and round, then shrieks.

The couch is much more comfortable than a kitchen counter and you can wrap yourself into one of the many upon many knit blankets Rose has produced over the years, to the point where they had no want to keep so many around their own home. Jade had doled them to your group on a whim and Jake adored anything from the woman who had once been his Grandmother to throw them out.

It’s a soft gray, with small strings of shimmered gold throughout it. Neutral. She looks pallid in its grip. She takes slow sips of the hot chocolate and doesn’t react when it burns her tongue. "why do you always do this shit janey" She asks quietly while she licks at a rivet of brown from the corner of her mouth.

"Because I care about you, you goof." You poke her in the nose and she frowns.

"you just always make such a huge deal about this stuff and i mean everyone has nightmares not just me" Her eyes stray downwards when she shrugs. "its not like you these kinds of things for dirk or jake or whatever it just makes me feel like a baby"

You smile at her with all your buck rounded teeth and press into her side, feel the warmth that starts to soak into her bones. "Perhaps that’s because you are a baby, Miss Lalonde." You lick your thumb and wipe at her face, she sputters and swats you away. Her lips are creaked into the slightest smile and you think it looks beautiful.

"well if im a baby then im the most badass baby to ever exist"

"Well of course."

She breathes and cuddles closer to you, pulling the blanket to her chin. It tickles at your neck and you pluck the mug from her hands before she spills it.

Roxy Lalonde may be made of Void, her experiences might have made her different from the girl you had aged and grown with over years and who you had suffered through months of Sburb with—the girl you murdered in the cold blood of a fish queen—but you will breathe the Life back into her soul until the end of your endless times.


End file.
